


Loved I Not Honor More

by lextenou



Series: Grunt Work [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Emma Swan/Pop Culture OTP, F/F, Henry Mills (Once Upon a Time) is a Little Shit, Implied/Referenced Abuse, No Curse Reboot, Oblivious Emma Swan, POV Evil Queen | Regina Mills, POV First Person, Regina Mills Assumes Everyone Knows What She's Talking About
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-03 13:39:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15819981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lextenou/pseuds/lextenou
Summary: Regina Mills is one of the most singularly accomplished people in the history of the Enchanted Forest. The mere fact of her survival long enough to raise her son aside, there were numerous other accomplishments she rarely dwelled upon. The fact that she did not immediately eviscerate Emma Swan every time she opened her mouth surely marked her as a veritable saint. Sequel to "Always Earned, Never Given".





	1. Reason Which Warred With Love

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the poetry and writings of Katherine Phillips, also known as Orinda, most especially the work entitled "To the Truly Noble and Obliging Mrs. Anne Owen". Additional inspiration from all unreliable narrators everywhere.

Emma Swan is a horrendous storyteller. 

This does not come as a surprise to any who knows her. Her highest echelon is, naturally, in the physical. The arias which she is able to perform or invoke by simply moving are the purest poetry. The extent to which that woman is able to drive others to distraction with the barest movements remains an irritation.

In the earliest times during which I have known her - Regina Mills, Mayor of Storybrooke, Queen of the Enchanted Forest - I was regaled with a simplistic dismissal of my inquiries into her thought processes and past. Not to say that I truly desired the knowledge. It is merely a formality of convention that triggered my descent into the maelstrom that is Emma Swan's mentality.

At the first, the reconnaissance into whether Emma Swan thought of more beyond the baser instincts was a mere lark. Suffice to say, had I the mind, she would have been summarily defeated prior to knowing she was in any sort of engagement. Her initial volley did much to throw me, as her entire presentation of self was such that I was lulled into a false sense of safety. Emma Swan has proven to be the utmost in disruption to my deliberately crafted quiet life.

It began with the disappearance of my son. Henry Daniel Mills came into my life one chilly fall day, and has since been the center of my life. It has been difficult at times to balance my duties as Mayor with the demands of single motherhood. No more difficult than successfully hosting an ostensibly peaceful ball with two warring factions that are united in their hatred of you, but that is neither here nor there.

In his first years, Henry would happily interrupt my day to demand entertainment. It should have come as little shock later in his life when he began to entertain the ideas of breaking my borrowed magnum opus. It pained me to be forced to protect him in the manner I did. I could not guarantee his safety should he actually attempt, or worse, succeed to break the Dark Curse. Such was my fear that I enacted many a protection surrounding him that cause me to now glance back at myself askance. I reached that point of franticness but once previously.

When I reached the midpoint of life, I had finally reached the paroxysm of grief and insanity necessary to enact the Dark Curse. Demanding the greatest bond of love broken in price, the curse was one with such power that few could comprehend, much less plan. After it’s enactment, the true depth of it’s impact was revealed to me.

With all that has come from it, my life is richer for the experience. I would not, and could not, change any of what happened. As troublesome and problematic as my own actions have been, I cannot regret what I have done, nor would I seek to to alter my course. They brought to where I am, surrounded by those whom call to me with fealty, and more importantly, all that occurred brought me my son.

As a young girl, my mother instilled in me the deep respect for powerful magics that has remained with me throughout my life. Morality was never a strong suit. Not that I blame her. For all that she has done, she is my mother and is afforded her due deference.

My father...my son is named for the kindest and most loving man I’ve ever known, and the most foolhardy and cherished. Fitting then, that he should come from the single bravest and most infuriating person I’ve ever met. 

Much of my grief has always found its focus on the youngster whom I blamed for my brokenhearted plight. I could not, except in darkest times, lay the blame at the foot of the one whom remains truly responsible. Snow White made a capable scapegoat and continues to remain so. Having contributed to her raising, I was also well familiar with just how strong she was. Mayhaps that is why she was always able to escape my grasp. 

No matter how hard I tried, I could never successfully entrap Snow, the wily devil. Her companions and friends rallied about in ways which defied me capably, again and again.

Bound as we always have been, it is no small wonder that our lives were destined to become even more closely entwined.

Emma Swan blew into my town as a dervish, twenty eight years to the day after my father’s sacrifice. Sweet brown eyes that had only recently turned from gazing at me in childish devotion to a depth of mistrust and conflict swept over me as I rushed down my walkway to greet my sweet and noble boy. 

“I was so worried about you. Where have you been?"

“I went to find my real mom!"

He scampered into the house after spouting learned hatred and left me standing idly on the sidewalk, only then noting the tousled blonde that had scuffled up after him. I barely acknowledged Graham's mumbled comment on tending to Henry. I took in the sight of the tousled woman before me, resting on her heels in a studied display of casualness. "You're Henry's birth mother?"

Her bashful grin was one I was deeply familiar with, accustomed as I was to seeing it on my son's face. To see it on a grown woman, especially one made of supple curves and trimly muscled casualness unsettled my usual aplomb. “Uh. Hi.” Gods be damned, she was adorable. I shook my head and took in the full length of her.

Boots worn comfortable, tended and cared for. Polished recently. Jeans, clean, tight enough to display her curves without restricting her motion. Shirt, comfortable and clean. Rumpled from the drive. Jacket, red offsetting her golden hair, loose and curling around her shoulders. Hands, callused and scarred from work, looking like they held a sinewy strength. A small smile, speaking of secrets unknown. 

Were we in the old world, I would have claimed her for my own.

In this one, I had reason to believe this was the fabled Savior, come to break my curse and take my heart. 

When studying magics and prophecies, the single greatest effort one must maintain is a dual role - information gathering and open mindedness. I could run this woman out of town easily. The effort would be simplistic to the extreme. Something about the casual nature of the woman's stance gave me slight pause. I needed to review the words, the exact words said and passed down, before making a decision. 

I met her eyes directly. Guileless curiosity met my gaze and I extended an olive branch. "How would you like a glass of the best apple cider you've ever tasted?" 

Little did she know, I could break the branch beneath her feet at any time.

She smiled at me and a flutter of something unknown shot through me. "Got anything stronger?"

Rich, sweet tones of her laughter met my ears and I plastered a smile to muffle my reaction. She relayed Henry’s words, and even second hand, they cut deeply, deeper than I could have imagined. If he continued down the path he had set us on, the curse would weaken or likely break. The greatest downside to a powerful magic such as the curse remained that it relied too much on blind faith. Glaring holes were overlooked with simple hand waving gestures of “it’s always been like that” or “everyone knows that.”

It wasn’t until I spent much of the 80’s and 90's watching network television that I realized where the concepts had come from. Of course the imp had taken much of his ideas from the entertainment for the masses. He always did have a flair for the dramatic. 

The undercurrents of Dynasty and Peyton Place I could have done without, regardless of how viscerally satisfying it was to see Alexis and Krystle allow their ire free reign.

That first night of having Emma Swan in my orderly town left me with more questions than I could find answer to. Confusion became my constant companion when engaging with the infuriating woman, starting with her introduction.

It was thoroughly discomfiting to unearth just how thoroughly suited she was to her task. 

Of all the people she could have possibly been, she is a warrior, through and through. Her bearing, her mindset, everything of who she is and what she does is suffused with this. Her bull headed habit of running headlong into trouble has done more to upset my orderly world than all of Henry's childhood. 

It is infuriating.

She never spoke of that particular tendency of hers. Not that she spoke of much.

On the eleventh of November, barely a month past the time which she had arrived in my orderly, sedate, perfect little town, Emma entered the Rabbit Hole. It is commonly dismissed as a den of vice and iniquity. Having visited true dens of their ilk, I am ill disposed to think of it as such. It is merely a bar and lounge in a small town in Maine.

On that night, she bought two beers. Draught. She sat, playing with the insignia which denoted her as a soldier of this realm, as she drank one. When she left, the other beer stood at the end of the bar, a napkin beneath it, scrawled with a name and date. Those who strode by and viewed the beverage sought other accommodation in the dark corners.

It was not until the large man she colloquially denoted as Pidgin descended that I learned of the significance of the tradition of buying a beer for the fallen.

She never spoke of it.

She never spoke of many things.

Now, I am able to look back and re-examine our interactions with a finer eye, determining what was true deception and what was simply deemed unimportant to discuss.

That first night, she did not mention her warrior nature. She did not tell me of her capabilities, nor of her solvency. To be sure, had I known then what I do now, I do not doubt my initial response to her would have been different. Be that as it may, I do recognize that such discussions are not ones which are commonly held upon the first time meeting someone, especially someone to whom you have returned their wandering child. While I would have appreciated the information, I am not so self centered as to ignore that she had other things to speak of to me that night. 

What she did say to me, in soft tones over my cider, was enough to make me wrack my brain that night for the location of the original text of the Dark Curse. I knew well that it remained locked away within my vault, beneath the heavy sarcophagus that held the remains of my father's life. His body was not brought with us that long ago day, but the detritus of a long life was. I still could not bring myself to go through it.

So it was that the following morning I visited her at Granny's. I did not expect much that morning, but to have her draw the door open and greet me in naught but her underthings did much to throw me off kilter in ways so ancient I barely remembered how to keep myself from displaying my reaction. I fear that the hunger I felt for her was visible on my features that day. It was this which I felt certain at the time that made her tug on her jeans with such haste. I mourned the loss of the vision of those long, muscled legs, a vision which I knew would surely haunt me. Whatever inane statements I made in response to her greeting have long since escaped me. I neither know nor care to remember what embarrassment emerged from me. 

She remains annoyingly capable at rending asunder my hard fought composure and poise. A glimpse of her trimly muscled arms hefting boxes the other day nearly had me dropping my coffee mug, unexpected as it was to see first thing in the morning. 

She particularly enjoys catching me off guard in the morning, I suspect. Naturally, she has never admitted to this, always giving the same quiet smile and soft greeting. Though I am much vexed by her displays, still I would do naught to curb them. I have not the strength to resist. I never have, when it comes to those dalliances of fancy.

My sweet boy improved quickly after she swept into my orderly town and disrupted my staid and quiet life. I know not what she said to him, nor do I overmuch care. The resulting affection which he gave to me soothed many of the injuries which he had visited upon me with that casual cruelty so frequent in children. I could not help but to feel a quiet sort of warmth burgeoning regarding her presence with each freely given smile and genuine hug he gave to me, unburdened by his fixation on my identity. 

It may have been more beneficial to have told him from a young age that he was my prince not just as an appellation, but in truth. Perhaps that might have altered his benevolence toward me. Perhaps it might have prevented him from scurrying to the bowels of Boston to retrieve the Savior. 

Perish the thought.

Overall, my bright and shining boy blossomed yet again, his affections nearly as freely given as they had been. The distrust which had lurked in his steady gaze faltered and died quietly, without the need for me to take further action. 

In the earliest of the morning hours, long before my boy would wake, I would descend to the depths of my vault and painstakingly, methodically, parse through the detritus of my father's life. He had been the keeper of my secrets and closest adviser, and it was to his hands I had entrusted the text of the Dark Curse prior to enacting it. It seemed of utmost logic to me that his effects, then, would contain that most vital vellum, detailing how to traverse across worlds. 

It takes much sacrifice to harness proper magics. Far from the flashy light displays so common to the mundane, true powerful magics carve themselves into your soul and leave a broad furrow across the very essence of your being. It is in embracing these effects and working with them that they become stronger and the magics become more resilient. I had spent much of my life entangled within the mire of studies, keenly devouring any tome which would come my way. 

That may be why Emma's actions so regularly startled me. Frequently, she would react not as I would expect, but as someone I should trust. 

It was that day at the mine that troubled me most, at the start. So quickly after our first meeting, and she showed her mettle. It was also that day which showcased to me some of the depths she carried within her. I do not like to think much on the look in my Black Guards eyes when they would return from battle. It was not an easy thing, has never been an easy thing to fight for a cause one may or may not believe in because of the oaths one has taken. 

There were numerous times when I had seen that carefully blank look on faces I knew, and I knew well how easily one could react in unpredictable ways. That may have been why I slid so easily into back into my commanding persona and chastised the clerk who had stopped by to retrieve documents that weren't due until the end of the week. I remembered all too well how easily one could neutralize a perceived threat without meaning to do so, and the regret that could visit upon one who had done such things. 

It is not a pleasant thing to have blood and offal cleaned from flagstone.

It was this knowledge that had me observing Emma Swan so minutely and quietly before the clerk intruded. Naturally, at the time, I did not much heed the play of muscle and motion that occurred. I could not allow myself to do so until much later. Then when I did, it would not leave me. 

I suppose I should have been more startled when it was discovered that the shepard had awoken from his cursed slumber than I was by her instinctive display of protectiveness. It was all to easy to dismiss her disruption in the wake of my sweet boy's return, but I couldn't dismiss or ignore the way she so easily and capably positioned herself in order to ensure my safety with a minimum of intrusion. 

I should have expected that the shepard would awaken once she came into my town. It seemed inevitable, really, as did her impressment into the role of Sheriff's deputy. I knew that not giving Graham orders to keep her out would lead to him running his own checks and discovering her background. Naturally, I did not then know that she would be so eminently suited to the role, but it was easily discovered afterward. 

Maybe that is also why I did not react negatively when she moved to protect me from a mundane, if unexpected intruder. I'd naturally seen Graham's memo on hiring Emma Swan, and I had restrained my surprise to a single raised eyebrow as I read of her previous service. Perhaps in another world, she could have been someone different to me, perhaps even...

But I digress.

My Black Guard was always capable and ready to defend myself and the realm, and their efforts in this world were significantly more subtle. Most were living quiet - if physical - lives, their bodies still honed to the battle readiness that might be needed should anything untoward happen. I could not have spared them, but I could have them provided for with appropriately suitable lives. Graham, I could not spare to be farther from me than he was in the role of Sheriff. Perhaps that is why I did not seek to bar her employment. 

There was something in her that I recognized that did not coalesce until I saw her pointing a pistol at my office door, separated from the wet behind the ears paralegal by the thinnest protection of wood. I doubt that clerk knew any jot of the danger present in that moment. 

It wasn't until Emma lowered her gun and put it away while releasing a long breath that I dared do more than watch. 

"I don't suppose you could-"

"Not ask?" I watched with minute attention as she smoothly stood from her crouched position. Her forearms were bared beneath the rolled up sleeves of her shirt and she refused to raise her gaze. I had seen this before, though it had been many years. "How long has it been since you reacted like that?" 

Her voice was quiet, a tinge of regret lining her words as her weight shifted. "A long time."

"Years?" Her eyes darted closer to meeting my own.

"...Yes." 

I did not enjoy this cowed warrior before me. She had demonstrated the kind of instinct that had helped to keep I and mine safe for decades. Were we in the old world, I should have awarded her my favor. As it was, all I could offer was simplistic words. I could only hope they might be enough.

"Deputy Swan." I waited for her to raise her eyes to meet my own. I had to impress upon her the truth of my statement. "Thank you." Her brows furrowed in confusion, drawing a crinkle between her eyes that was achingly familiar from my son's efforts in concentration. It would not do to continue to draw attention to her actions. "Have you been able to find out anything further from my son?"

Rife as the subject was, it was less of a quagmire than the subject of her instinctual reactions to threats against me.

Or my continued staring at her in that damnably distracting shirt.

"He's convinced we have to find a way to end the curse. He's not sure how. After the thing with Ashley's baby, though, I think he's taking a step back." 

I had moved to the couch, partially to remove the formality of having my desk between us, and partially to break my continued hungered consumption of her form. At her statement, however, I returned my gaze to her. I'd heard of the difficulty with Gold, regarding Ashley's baby. I well remembered the ill conceived plan, successful as it had been in securing the imp into a warded cell. I had grudgingly respected their efforts at the time - it had done much to ease my own plans. 

"When Gold tried to take Ashley's baby?" One simply didn't walk away from a deal with the imp. Crass as it was to break one's word, the deals he struck were considerably more over arching than a simple handshake. I myself still owed him a boon, though he had yet to claim it at the time. He'd simply made insinuations, alluding to knowledge he had about me which he should not have had. Thoroughly unsettling. 

Almost as unsettling as Emma Swan's mere presence. 

"Yeah, I uh, I kind of lost my temper at Gold. But I managed to convince him to back off of you and the kid, so there's that."

Her words struck me to the core and I was captured, staring at her in stupefaction. Did that idiot know the full import of her actions? I myself had not, until we had been years within Storybrooke. "Back off of me?" I repeated the words moronically, unable to parse their meaning. 

Emma merely raised a shoulder in a negligent shrug, her nonchalant treatment of the subject as irritating as the fact of the subject matter. "The kid was hysterical, and Gold was insinuating he had something on you. So I told him any deal he had with you was off if he wanted me to owe him any favors." 

The damnable idiot. A favor! Open ended! From the Savior! Did she not comprehend what a cunning beast such as he could do with such power? Naturally, she didn't. Of course. It would be too much to ask for her to recognize the machinations of a game in play long before her birth. 

"You...owe him a favor?" My voice reflected just how gobsmacked her stumbling, brash action had left me. Me! A Queen, brought low by a wretched scheming imp for far too long. And then! To have my forced kowtow rescinded on her word? 

The thought eviscerated me in ways I did not fully understand at the time. 

Emma Swan is a thorn in my side. I, to this day, cannot abide her charming smile and effortless strength of body and will. Her dedication of self to the causes which she is aligned has done more to upset my tidy and ordered life than her mother ever could have dreamed.

Perhaps that is Snow White's truest revenge against me. Not so much her little rebellions that served distraction, or her efforts to incite uprising amongst my people, but the simple truth of her daughter and that damnable, effortlessly distracting smile. 

All else equal, however, Emma Swan remains a thoroughly horrific storyteller. It is a wonder that Henry is capable of stringing together coherent tales with her as a model. 

I suppose I cannot fault her for this overmuch. It is not as though she truly were given the opportunity to learn the ways of the pen when she was pressed upon to become a soldier of this realm. I must admit, however, that I remain eternally grateful for those lessons that she learned.


	2. The More I Seek, The Less I Find

There are many moments in my life when I have faced death and laughed. My mother was particularly capable at making me wish for death, but never brought me truly to the brink, merely making me fear it to the point that I could not and did not have the capability of recognizing true fear of death. My sense of normalcy for many years was driven by her desires, many of which encompassed seeing me suffer. 

It should be little surprise then, that it has never been my own death which I have feared, but that of those around me. My mother discovered this easily, ensuring that I would largely be kept in line to her wishes. It was only through the support of someone else that I was able to attempt to break free, and even then, I was cursed to bear witness to his death. 

I discovered then, amidst my grief, a deep seated hatred of watching those I care for be injured in any way. 

This may be why, when I was alerted that the mines had collapsed and Emma informed me that my son would likely be trapped within, I reacted in a way that was foreign to me. 

One of the lessons my mother strove to instill in me was of constant adherence to appearances. I could cry and wail within the confines of my room, but heaven forbid the servants heard me. It took weeks for me to not look at my arm in wonder that such a vicious break had healed so well beneath her magic. It tingled for days when I used it, and use it she made me do. She was particularly keen on my embroidery at the time, I recall. She particularly enjoyed ripping the stitches out as she cheerfully told me how wrong I had laid out my lines and how careful I would have to be when redoing them. 

This may have been why I was so quick to display my anger but strove to restrain my vulnerability. 

When I held my son for the first time, the emotion that welled within me was unlike any other I had known. Through the years, he would bring out in me emotion I had not previously felt. It is likely that, had I not sought him, my curse would not have weakened to the point of breaking as it did.

It is no small wonder to me that I restrained myself as I did when I was told that Henry was trapped in that cursed mine. All I knew was that I had to get to my boy, he could have been hurt, he could have been dead - 

"Regina!" 

The colors that smeared before my eyes of the collapsed mine and the encircling treeline coalesced back into their usual crispness. The brightness of red shone in the gray afternoon, a beacon amidst the muted colors of the rest of the gathered throng. 

She was giving me a curious look, strong and direct in a way that captured my full attention. I listened to her carefully, soaking in her promises of rescuing my boy as one parched. Her fingers were firm and warm against my biceps, holding me secure as she spoke with a quiet and commanding urgency. 

I allowed her words to soak into me and nudge me toward trusting her. I had to - I had been assured of her experience, even if her calm composure was mildly infuriating. That was my son down there, how dare she not be panicked!

I searched her features for the truth of her words. It had to be truth she spoke, nothing other would assuage me. I needed what she said to me, how she spoke pretty words of saving my son, I needed them to be truth. She attired herself in the strapped contraption to allow her to descend and return to the surface with my shining boy. I could not let her go without impressing upon her the import of the situation. 

I reached for her arm, pressing my fingers against the cool leather of her jacket, my eyes searching her face. "Bring him home to me." She looked at me curiously for the briefest moment before smiling and ducking her head in a nod. She turned, her fingers brushing against mine. 

She descended all too slowly, each drop deliberate to carefully allow her to reach the bottom of the mindshaft safely. The seconds stretched between breaths, interminable tension lining my shoulders and spine as we all waited. Finally, the call came, the blessed call that said she'd found my boy and was making her way to him, then shortly after, that they would be ascending shortly. 

They ascended as slowly as she had descended, and as that tousled head of blonde came clear of the edge of the shaft, my boy's mussed brown hair came visible. A round of applause sounded from those gathered.

It remains curious to me how the oddity of mass applause has remained a habit of those who were cursed. It had never been a commonality of the Enchanted Forest, nor its surrounding areas. It was a habit unique to America, which has since, unfortunately, infected my realm. 

He was released from the harness and placed nearly in my arms. I grasped him to my chest, checking him over for injuries. I'm sure I said some inane platitudes, until I heard and felt the rumble and spied the plume of dust that erupted from the mouth of the shaft. My eyes raised and met with Emma's as I clutched my boy to me. Her face was calm but serious, a steady strength that assuaged my fear with a soft warmth. 

Her callused hand ruffled Henry's hair as she smiled. "Glad I was able to find you in one piece, kiddo." Then her attention returned to me, skewering me where I stood. I could not fight against the gratitude. "Thanks for letting me do my job, ma'am."

"Anytime, Deputy." She gave me a lopsided grin and it was only years of iron clad self-control that prevented me from collapsing from the overwhelming emotion.

It was rather irritating that she should affect me in such ways. Later, when her shield mate, known by the curious name of Pidgin, invaded my town, I heard more of her antics. She was a curious anomaly in my quiet and orderly town. Pidgin, moreso, though his presence was a panacea against the machinations of those would see me fail. 

Pidgin's calm demeanor and easy smile was a welcome respite from the half truths and deep currents that I fought against. His arrival just after the fire in my office would have been suspect had Emma not vouched for him. He was free with his telling of her past, as well, though only in ways I had grown familiar with from my Black Guard. It is a peculiarity of soldiers across all realms that they behave in the same manners. A commander is a commander, and the loyalty they can inspire can be a delight to see. 

It was a curiosity, to be sure, to hear tales of how Emma, as a youngster, had reamed one of her subordinates for hitting on a teenager and almost going off to a darkened area of the beach with her. Pidgin's descriptions of how Emma had focused not only on the impact such an action would have against her subordinate's career, but on the life of the youngster that had been aggressively pursuant of a dalliance. 

I wonder how much different my life might have been had I had a protector such as Emma when I was that age. 

It was curious, the nickname that Pidgin called Emma by as he told me these tales.

Graham's death was a disruption, though I should have seen the imp's treachery coming after his insinuations of knowing what was truly occurring. He has never been good at truly hiding his machinations. His pride always speaks first, when circumspection would serve him best.

Of all the things that the imp hinted at to me, however, the one that most disturbed me was the undercurrent that he considered us on the same side. Apparently, whatever was out there that had actually taken Graham from us was more alarming than him allying with me, or even those daring do-good lackwits. 

It was a relief, then, to speak with Pidgin and learn the mundane tales of Emma's particular brand of heroism. 

Pidgin was a breath of fresh air, firmly ensconced within the reality of the world and upright with the staid surety of a warrior. His peculiar speech patterns did not discomfit me - many of the old world had peculiarities of speech. I had met with him by chance, never mind that I had planned specifically to pass by Granny's with no set further destination whilst he was there. He welcomed me with a wide smile, his easy demeanor surrounded with a calm air that soothed my ire. 

The imp did have such a way of needling me, as did that overgrown toddler Spencer. 

"Mornin', ma'am." Pidgin's deference was also a bonus to conversing with the charming man. 

"Good morning, Pidgin. How are you today?"

"Good, ma'am." His eyes swept the crowd in Granny's briefly before returning to me.

"Join me for a coffee?" His grin widened at my offer. 

"Yeah, good." He settled his large frame into one of the booths and slid his phone free from his pocket at the chirrup that alerted to a new message. "Excuse me, ma'am, need to take care of this." His attention remained riveted on his phone briefly as he tapped and slid his fingers over the screen with a rapidity born of confidence. Our orders were placed with Ruby and I turned my attention to him as he raised his head with a small grin, his cheeks ruddy. "Sorry about that, ma'am. The transfer of our business needed a final confirmation."

"Your business, Mr. Okamura?" I gave a brief smile to Ruby in appreciation as she silently poured us mugs of coffee.

"Yeah, Pal and me had the kind business, yeah? Just sold it and gotta make sure she gets her share." Pidgin raised a shoulder in a negligent shrug. "Gotta get it done or I'm paying her share from mine, yeah."

"I see." I sipped at my coffee, shooting a quick glance to Ruby, who stood just past the end of the counter, well within the range of hearing Pidgin's statement. Our eyes met and she mouthed a silent 'oh my god' at me. I stifled my laughter by taking another sip. Of course she had a business she'd just sold a stake in. 

Why not.

"Did I tell you how Pal had this one girl talking story around the base until Tig heard about it?"

"No, Mr. Okamura, please do share." I leaned forward, a smile dancing around my lips. These short forays into Emma's past were a delight, each tale that I was regaled with yet another facet of the infuriatingly captivating woman. 

It was probably around this point that I truly recognized how far she had pulled me within her thrall by simply being steadfast. 

After all, I was sitting in Granny's scrabbling for any scrap of information I could get about her from someone who had known her for ages. 

Pathetic. 

Not that knowing that stopped me. 

"How did Emma thank Tig for that?"

Pidgin snorted out a laugh. "Bought a beer, yeah?" His laugh echoed in the slowly filling space of Granny's. I hid my smile in my dwindled cup of coffee. 

She was certainly an enigma, and Pidgin was a delight. I admit to missing him after he left, if only for his regular and easy laugh and easy sharing of Emma's past. I was grateful that he did leave just after the election, however. The thin veneer of normalcy surrounding my town would not have kept its truths hidden from him much longer. 

Especially not when Emma casually and easily broke my curse. 

I found myself unable to resist extending an invitation to her immediately following her retrieval of Maleficent from beneath the library. The fact that she had not justifiably killed one of my oldest friends was a boon of which I felt thoroughly unworthy. Yet she had done it. 

The least I could do would be to extend an invitation to dinner. 

Dinner was a calm affair, a quiet domesticity that wrapped around me with a soft warmth that felt like a family I had not thought myself capable of having. I could not have fathomed even wishing for it, not when my normalcy was my mother's peculiar brand of love and affection. 

It was probably this which caused me to be so surprised when Emma strode into my kitchen and addressed me. "Need some help there, Your Majesty?" The quiet assurance within those words made me certain she knew. 

The fork I had been washing slipped from my fingers and dropped back into the water with a muted splash and a clatter against the plate below. I took a deep breath and released it, staring out of my kitchen window with unseeing eyes. 

"He's right. About the curse. About me. About all of it." My confession was quiet and calmer than I had expected. I wasn't thinking. I wasn't feeling. There was too much for me to do either. All I could do was exist. 

"Kind of figured that out when I came face to face with a dragon." She moved behind me. I could see her reflection in the glass, clear against the dark Maine night. Her expression was calm, almost placid. "What'd they do?"

The reflection was too muted for me to truly see the nuances of her expression. She could not have possibly meant what it sounded like she meant with that question. 

Could she?

"Your mother? And her charming little prince?" Flashes of my past jumped to the forefront of my mind, too much to be said succinctly. "They stole my happiness."

Emma accepted what I said quietly, turning her attention to my fridge with the same sort of slow caution that I'd used on Henry to showcase to him that what he was asking for was directly before him. Her bright gaze landed upon my fridge and Henry's school picture. My shining boy had given a wide grin to the camera, his eyes bright with possibility. 

The lie in my words weighed heavily upon me and I collapsed against the counter, crushed beneath the breaking of the thin veneer that had kept me together for so long. It felt like no matter what, the offspring of the White Kingdom were dead set on ruining my happiness.

"There's not much in there from before." Emma's soft voice was curious, laced with an open inquisitiveness that confused me.

"Before what?"

"All of a sudden, you appear from nowhere, a dark bogeyman crafted just to go after Snow White."

Ah. That infernal book. So much had caused me pain within those pages, but the true pain I'd felt was hidden, dismissed outright as irrelevance before the might of the storyteller's pen. "There's not much to tell. I was born with just enough noble blood to justify a royal wedding."

Emma was good at interrogation. She kept herself casual and inoffensive. "If I know my stories, that wasn't by choice."

The rusty sound that emerged from me startled me even as it resounded. Memories of lashings sparked across the smooth and unmarred skin of my back. "My mother's. I was to be a Queen."

"Looks like you got your goal."

The fight had left me. I could no more muster ire against darling Snow than I could her accursed child. "Until she ruined it."

"My mother, you mean." It was a startlement that Emma would be able to say such a phrase with a straight face. 

"Snow White, Leopold's darling daughter." The ire I had thought exhausted re-emerged with a vengeance at the speaking of his blighted name. The horrors I had experienced at his hand, in his bed, caused much of what my mother had done to pale in my memory. 

"Doesn't sound like he was much of a benevolent king."

I took a steadying breath, waving off Emma's soft inquisition. The truth of the matter was, I had sought and gotten my freedom. "He died. I didn't."

"What were you before you married?"

Idyllic days spent riding, quiet laughter dancing on afternoon breezes, innocent kisses beneath sprawling trees - "Happy." A flash of magic, a falling body. "Mostly."

"You haven't been correcting him recently. Henry." Emma gestured upstairs in a vague manner. Her hands, though slim fingered, retained a strength that distracted in ways I didn't like to dwell on overmuch. "When he hints at his book. You took Hopper's advice."

My mind rushed and filled with so many thoughts that it was blank. I concentrated on the feel of my lungs filling and emptying. "It was pointed out to me that focusing on the positives would do more to endear him to me than attempting to eliminate the negatives."

The sound that erupted from Emma was thoroughly unladylike, a snorted laugh that nearly drew similar from myself. "What I actually said was to stop pissing in the pot, he already likes the soup."

"Always crude, Miss Swan."

Emma Swan is decidedly more than a throughly reprehensible storyteller. She is infuriatingly competent when she chooses to be, and annoyingly loyal to those to whom she is allied. For reasons I knew not which, she had chosen to ally herself to me. Thoroughly discomfiting. 

Even so, every time she saw fit to focus her attention upon me and utter those damnable words, "I believe you", I could do no other than to believe her. It may have been this which caused me to startle so when she appeared within my kitchen the following day. Apparently, her inquiries had borne fruit.

The lack of her immediate action was curious to me. I could not determine if she had decided to dispatch me or not. I would have been much distressed had she decided to do so. She and I had formed a workable detente over the previous months. Our conversation traipsed across hill and dale, confusing me mightily as to her decision. I did not dare foster the hope that bloomed in my chest that she might have decided to not follow in her parent's footsteps. 

That would require a measure of intelligence and bravery the likes of which the Charming line had shown itself lacking. 

It was after dinner, a quiet domestic engagement of deep happiness that wormed its way into my consciousness that it happened. She walked into my kitchen carrying her father's sword. Had the entirety of our interactions been but a ruse, a way of lulling me into a false sense of security that I would allow her close to me without any form of protection?

The scabbard clattered against my kitchen island and drew my attention. I watched her in silence, refusing to plead for my life. My shining boy was upstairs. I would not face my end with less than the utmost dignity. 

Then Emma Swan sank to one knee before me, the hilt of her sword extended toward me. She couldn't meet my eye directly, her gaze landing somewhere in the vicinity of my stomach. My hand pressed firmly against my stomach, taking in the sight before me. The classic swearing of fealty typically was done before court, to allow others to see the oath and testify to it. Secret oaths were remarkably uncommon but just as valid. My mind blanked at the sight of the heir to the White Kingdom, holding the sword that had once been flung at my head, proudly kneeling before me.

"It's borrowed, but its a sword. It's the sword of your enemy. If you will have it, I swear to serve you and yours until I no longer draw breath. On my honor, no one and nothing will ever harm you if I can do anything about it."

I stared at the rash, impulsive idiot kneeling on my kitchen floor. Did this foolhardy soldier have any idea of what she had just sworn? She had declared herself my personal champion, protector of me rather than my throne. I suppose, looking back, it does make sense. Had she sworn to serve the throne, there may have been confusion as her mother insisted she was entitled to my throne. 

"Do you have any idea what you're doing?" I had to know.

"I'm making an oath to the ruler of the Enchanted Forest."

I was deeply grateful for the countertop at my back. With that simple statement, she declared herself not only my champion, she invalidated her mother's claim to my throne. As heir to her mother's titles and lands, stating something such as that to another ruler was enough to thoroughly and completely eradicate any claim that her mother might press in future. 

Before me knelt a woman, a warrior, who had seen the depths of battle and come through. Someone who had been abandoned and still retained her shining light. Someone who had singlehandedly just ended the War of Succession that her mother had started. 

And had thoroughly and completely won my favor. 

"Stand, you idiot." I couldn't look at her any longer, certain that tears would soon spill from me were I to do so. "Your parents are going to kill you."

And me. Definitely me. 

After all, why would Emma Swan swear her fealty to me but for me despoiling her?

In short order, after more of her steadfast declarations, I dispatched her to put my shining boy to bed. It was then that I felt the ripple of magic and knew that Emma Swan, my champion, had broken the curse.

I closed my eyes at the feel of the magic dancing across my skin. Of course she had.

It was inevitable at that point, really. At some point, I would have bestowed my favor on her in a manner the likes of which would have broken the curse. I felt it down to my bones, swirling emotion trapped within me that would demand release.

Infuriatingly, she insisted on standing at my side when the slavering mob came for me. I could see some of the milling, awkward crowd as she stood in the doorway, brandishing her father's sword with the half awkward form of someone barely trained. I pressed a hand to my stomach at her rough declarations, her insistence upon my safety. A warmth spread through my chest at the knowledge that she would stand there against those who viewed her as their Savior, willing to destroy them all in order to fulfill her vow to me. 

The commanding shout from without surprised me. I had not expected Snow and her shepard to show. Though perhaps I should have. 

The reunion was sickeningly dripping with treacle. I could not begrudge them their happiness, not after Emma's fealty. What truly made my stomach flip, however, wasn't their cloying affection. It was Emma, looking over at me, the bright red of her jacket pushed back to allow her to rest one hand on the sword on her hip as she calmly smiled and declared to her parents that I, Regina Mills, Queen of the Enchanted Forest, would be safe.


	3. 'Tis More Honor That The World Should Know

It is frequently stated that I am unfeeling or callous. Obviously, this is the furthest possible thing from the truth. I feel, and quite deeply. I should think that being able to cast the Dark Curse or becoming Queen should have put paid to that, but apparently having a modicum of similar ruthlessness as other monarchs has led to me being likened to a heartless creature. 

It is a curious circumstance that my mother should be the Queen of Hearts. When originally I banished her from the Enchanted Forest, I neither knew nor cared where she would end up - all I cared for was that she would be gone and no longer able to harm me. 

Little did I know then which I know now. 

I have seen many of those who were close to me or sworn to me die before me, struck down in battle or by a vicious hand. Sometimes, more rarely, by my own. Of the countless faces that stream before my mind's eye, few ever have raised within me the level of vexation that spying Emma Swan tumbling through a portal to the Enchanted Forest causes. The glint in her eye and the stubborn cast of her jaw did nothing to relieve me and she rolled and fell with her mother through that accursed portal that I - I! - had conjured.

It was my fault she careened into that awful place, where the air danced across the skin with the suppressed magic that suffused the very air. She had grasped my arm and the bindings on my magic in this land were loosed. I watched as the endless shrieking burst forth then drew not only the wraith but Snow and Emma down, wrapping itself around them in heedless twisting joyousness. It cared naught that its target had been dispatched already, it had others in its grasp and would not let them go. They were just within its range and the wide eyed shock on Snow's face was little comfort as Emma grimly followed her. 

As suddenly as it had begun, it ended, the portal closing with a sudden cessation of sound only punctuated by the sturdy slap of the shepard's full body crash to the ground in his desperate ploy to follow his wife and child. Never mind that Henry remained, as did the town, no, it was of more vital importance that he launch himself headlong after them to possible non-existence. 

I wasn't sure at the time, but it became clear quickly that Emma's touch to my arm had done more than kick start my magic. Between her touch and her oath of fealty - foolhardy idiot! - she had quickly, effectively and most likely without meaning to, bound us together such that I could tell she was not dead. I could not put to words the certainty I felt but I knew within me that she remained stubbornly, infuriatingly alive. 

She has always been good at the unexpected.

The shepard and I lifted ourselves from the destruction and looked at each other blankly for a brief moment. Well, I did, at least. He remained, as ever, the easily led clod. 

"We need to go after them."

"And how do you propose we do that? Do you happen to have a bean hidden in those skinny jeans of yours?" It was probably one of the worst offenses he and his daughter had in common, those infuriating jeans. He wasn't terrible in them, but Emma...

"Someone has to have something. We have to rescue them!" 

As ever, the shepard handily showcased his overwhelming foolhardiness. It is no small wonder that his daughter would inherit such a fault. From him, it rankled. I sighed. Like it or not, Henry was fond of him. 

"We need to pick up my son."

"Emma's son."

"Until I receive paperwork from the State of Maine declaring my custody to be rescinded, he remains my son." I shot him a quick, dismissive glare and considered the matter closed. 

It wasn't. He would make idle comments of similar ilk over the coming days.

We retrieved Henry from his temporary crow's nest at Granny's. The expression on his face flickered through numerous emotions before he settled on a curious sort of confusion. 

"Emma's in..."

"The Enchanted Forest." Naturally, I didn't mention that it was entirely possible that the Enchanted Forest no longer existed and what they had been sent to was a featureless endless realm of nothingness. I shot a withering glare to the shepard to prevent him from saying anything of the sort. "Where the rest of us are from."

Understanding relaxed his shoulders and his spine straightened to his full height as he looked over at us with a calm seriousness I knew he could only have gotten from me. "Then they have to be in the book."

The shepard frowned in confusion. It was a wonder his face wasn't a constant wrinkle from the lack of basic understanding the man possessed. 

"If they are, I need to see it first." My tone brooked no disagreement from him and I met his serious gaze squarely. "I need to know what is happening so I can help." And hopefully confirm that the gnawing at the edge of my consciousness truly was support of what he stated, that they were alive in the Enchanted Forest. 

He pulled the book free of his backpack and laid it on the table, his hands curled around it. He looked at me for a long moment before sliding the book toward me and releasing it. I wrapped a hand around his. His fingers twitched but didn't pull away. "I will not keep the truth from you." He nodded and released a shaky breath. 

It seemed Emma's influence on him had been better than I could have expected. 

The cover of the heavy book inscribed with "Once Upon A Time" in garish lettering did not fill me with joy to open. Each page I flipped past bore a reminder of the lift I had left, a life littered with numerous bodies and innumerable scars to my psyche. I resisted the urge to launch the book in the air and fireball it out of existence, though by what miracle I managed this, I do not know. 

The shepard crowded at my side and peered at the pages as they flipped by until we spotted the pages at the end. The last page showed a full illustration of Emma Swan helping Snow White to her feet, the two of them surrounded by what appeared to be a vagabond troupe of refugees. 

The accompanying text did little to assuage my tension. The shepard grimaced visibly beside me as he read, and I almost elbowed him as hard as I could in his ribs. His lack of poker face was not helpful in keeping my sweet boy calm. Henry's gaze was flitting back and forth between us, and I gave him a brief smile. 

"They're alive. They made it to the Enchanted Forest." He gave a nod and waited as I kept reading. "It looks like they're with a group of refugees, but it doesn't say what they're refugees from." At the shepard's intake of breath I shot a glare at him before returning my attention to my son. "We've been gone from there a long time so its hard to say how things are there now."

Henry looked back and forth between us. "But we can save them, right?"

"Yes." Ye gods, that man's unflagging optimism would be the death of me yet. 

The ensuing days were much of the same - checking the book, reassuring Henry, trying not to launch a myriad of curses at the shepard's head. Truly, my self control was at its breaking point when the imp visited me.

The words he spoke, of where my mother had ended up, how surely she would be the one to return, lingered in my mind long after he'd departed. It was infuriating. I tried to shrug it off but it proved difficult. It was only the thin lifeline of that book and the gnawing certainty of Emma's continued survival that kept me from succumbing to his deviant whispers. 

I hesitate to declare that he got to me, or that I was strong enough to resist. I was neither. It was only through the continued support and absolute belief of my shining boy that I was able to resist placing a death curse on the well, the thinnest point between the realms, and successfully hold myself up against his machinations. 

Henry proved that he did not just believe in Emma. Henry proved that he believed in me. 

That was why, after agonizing moments standing by that well, it was a sigh of relief that emerged from me to see Emma Swan's unkempt curls popping over the rough hewn stone edge of the well. I had not thought I would welcome the sight of her so much as I did then. 

She laughed breathlessly as Henry embraced her - I firmly ignored the sappy reunion that was happening behind me - and turned her tearful smile to me. 

"Your mom's, uh, a real piece of work."

I couldn't help it. 

I laughed.

We placed the death curse on the well, just in case, and happily set to celebrating that they had survived. I'd cheerfully ignored the snide comments and sidelong glances from the town. It was nothing new. My boy still smiled at me, a genuine smile, and Emma greeted me with what seemed to be happiness. 

It was with no little surprise then that I was halted by Emma's hand and she smiled at me, slightly lopsided and vaguely sheepish. "There's uh, a kind of welcome back party." Her callused fingers brushed against the silk of my shirt. It was damnably distracting. "I, we'd, like it if you came."

I'm not sure what possessed me when I agreed. The warmth of her fingers lingered long after she'd left. 

I was then stymied by a further task - what to bring? A potluck, she had said, that night at Granny's. I knew I would be surrounded by many of those who had spent most, if not all, of their lives either hating me or fighting against me. I had no illusions that any of my allies would appear. I'd had few enough before we'd come to Storybrooke.

The dish I elected to make was one of Henry's favorites, a four cheese lasagna. He'd always loved it since he was able to have it the first time. My earliest incarnations were less than stellar. I cannot describe the inedible pap I made those first few times before I truly got the recipe down. It helped once I hit upon the realization that cooking was much like potions. So long as I ensured the correct proportions were in play and was deliberate in my crafting, it would turn out well. 

I entered Granny's with an apprehensive smile, my eyes sweeping over the brightly lit space filled with my nearest and dearest enemies. A ringing "who invited her!" echoed above the softly playing music. I did not halt my stride, or allow them to see that their scrutiny was felt, clearing a spot for my casserole dish among the rabble's offerings. 

Emma's firm and steadily voiced "I invited her" surprised me. I had not expected that of her. Stubborn.

I mingled some, the interactions somewhat stilted. I knew it was not a widely bandied truth that the Savior had sworn fealty to me, so it was not a surprise that many eyed her askance as she kept one eye on me through much of the night. It was almost reassuring to know that she constantly kept watch over me, if also mildly irritating. I kept feeling a flush wishing to rise to my cheeks. Annoying. 

I had lost sight of her and much of the lasagna I had brought had been consumed - it had probably helped that Leroy, reassuringly foul and suspicious, had himself partaken of two helpings. The warm hand that gently cupped at my elbow was a total surprise, the touch making a soft flutter rise from low in my stomach. My head turned and I met Emma's grin with an inquiring eyebrow. 

"Want to get some air?" Her head tilted to the side as she said this, her eyes sparkling with good humor beneath the harsh fluorescent lighting. I glanced around the room, my eyes spying yet again the tacked on "+ Emma!" at the end of the "Welcome Home Snow!" banner. I gave a nod, unable to meet her eyes again. My gaze hovered around her chin. I did not stare at the pout of her lips, shining with the light chapstick she preferred.

The cool Maine air was blessed relief after the encroaching heat of the diner and I released a sigh. I wrapped my arms around my midsection, allowing the stress of the day to fully release. 

"You were incredible out there."

My eyes flew open at the proximity of Emma's voice. I was unable to control the flush that suffused me this time, and felt the warmth flood my cheeks. I refused to meet Emma's eyes. I couldn't. 

"I did what needed to be done."

Her fingertips were warm against my elbow, barely brushing against my own hand before more firmly wrapping around me. "You were a hero today. For both Henry and me." Her words were quiet beneath the twinkling fairy lights that wound through the overarching trellises of Granny's patio. 

For a sweet moment, I allowed myself to believe them. 

"I'm not a hero, Emma." I hated the waver in my voice as I said that. It was infuriating. 

"You are to me." Her hand cupped my cheek and the flush that had heated my cheeks flooded through the rest of my system. "And you are to the kid, as well." She leaned forward and softly pressed her cheek against my temple. "Thank you."

When she stepped back, I felt cold.

I hated it.

That night, I slept fitfully. I couldn't place my finger upon what was wrong but I knew to the depths of my being that there was something thoroughly unequivocally wrong. A pounding on my door in the morning cemented it. Thankfully, Henry was already at school - education waits for no curse, after all. I opened the door and was greeted with the stern faces of Emma and her parents. 

"Regina, wh-" 

"No." Emma rounded on the shepard and held up a hand, halting any further speech from the man. "I agreed to bring you along if you promised to let me run my own damned investigation. You may be...who you are, but I am still the Sheriff. We run this my way or this is not investigated and I arrest anyone who attempts to do so for obstructing a peace officer in the course of their duties."

His lips thinned as he pressed them together and he leveled a stern look at me. Being that I had no clue what I was being accused of this time, I merely raised an eyebrow at him. Snow stood next to him, watching me quietly. 

Finally, he nodded. 

Emma turned back to me with a brief, all too professional smile. How I missed her easy grin in that moment. 

"Good morning, Regina. May we come in?"

"That depends, Sheriff," I stressed the title, supporting her claim. If it involved anything that might cause the ever so charming couple to react, then it surely must be something that they would have unfailingly have accused me of and locked me up for were we back in the Enchanted Forest. Thankfully, we were no longer there, but in Maine, subject to the laws and customs of the land, which included an assumption of innocence. "What is this in regards to?"

Emma cleared her throat, her thumbs hooking into her pockets. Her hips jutted out slightly with the motion, drawing my eyes down her body in a quick perusal. She was wearing those damnably tight jeans again. 

"Regina, where were you after the party last night?" Emma's quiet, authoritative tone contained a hint of a plea that had me searching her face for any clue. Her eyes fairly pleaded with me and I answered with an equally measured tone.

"I came home and went to bed. It had been a long day."

"Do you have anyone who can support this?"

Ah. Someone had done something, and I was under suspicion. Of course. Thankfully, it did seem that Emma was taking her oath seriously, if the shepard was not. Snow remained quiet throughout this, merely watching us with dedicated attention. 

"I'm afraid not, Sheriff, unless one of my neighbors was pursuing one of their recent favorite pastimes and was watching me through their darkened windows. I'm sure someone around here is trying to keep tabs on my comings and goings."

Emma let out a short laugh. "I'm sure. Last night, Archie Hopper was attacked in his office. The attacker looked like you."

"Because it was her!"

Snow elbowed her husband, hard enough to drive the breath from him. "I literally just finished telling you about how Cora shapeshifted into Lancelot while we were in the Enchanted Forest when we found that out. And you're forgetting about the little detail of Emma's oath." The last was nearly hissed in his ear. I hadn't heard Snow that rankled in years. It was refreshing. 

"My mother has taken up shapeshifting?" I could not restrain the tremor in my voice and glanced around the yard. "You'd best come in."

I wrung my hands in deliberate motions, unwilling to more overtly display just how disquieted Snow's proclamation had made me. If my mother had taken to adopting the appearance of others so casually, who knew what we were in store for. She could be anyone. 

"Emma, are either of your parents acting oddly this morning? Or anyone else you've run into?"

Emma glanced at them before returning her gaze to me as I busied myself with making coffee. "No. Same as always. Bit more hard headed on, in his case, but pretty much the same." She stumbled over her words and I could understand. It would be difficult to name two friends as parents when you were close to the same age. 

"If my mother has taken this on, we are in worse trouble than I thought." I watched the coffee drip into the pot before turning my head and meeting Snow's gaze. She recognized my look of dread. I'd worn it before, when we fought a mutual enemy. We'd got at loggerheads again right after, but we had called a temporary truce to fight a larger evil. "Snow."

She nodded. "Yes. Emma trusts you. I'm willing to follow her lead."

I released a sigh. "Does anyone else know what Emma did just before the curse broke?"

Snow glanced at her daughter and back at me. "No. We didn't speak of it."

I turned my gaze to Emma and gave a weak smile. "That may be our one saving grace." I pulled down some mugs and set out the milk and sugar. "My mother will try to separate me from any support I have. She wants me to only have her. I have to appear weakened."

"Vulnerable." Emma nearly growled the word out, her hands wrapped around the edge of my counter. 

"Yes. If she thinks I have any support, anything we do against her will never work." I wrung my hands again as the coffee pot clicked that it was done with its cycle. "Did you see anyone else who was capable of shape shifting? Or anyone she was allied with?"

Emma gave a short laugh, and ran a hand through her hair. "Captain fucking Hook. Some foot soldiers. Did you recognize them?" She directed her last statement to Snow.

"No. But that doesn't mean they aren't recognizable. May I?" Snow gestured to a sketchbook Henry had left on the counter nearby. I nodded and she began to draw some rough sketches as we continued to talk. 

"My mother has one goal in life. Me. I must live the planned life she has for me. That I did anything against her has been the greatest disappointment in her life. She will do anything she can in order to get me back. I am hers and she will not rest until I am hers again." I wrapped my hands around the full mug of steaming coffee that Emma placed in my hands. "I am her plaything."

"You are a human fucking being, Regina. Not anyone's toy." Emma's hand rested against mine and I raised my gaze to meet hers, my breath hitching in my throat at the fire I saw in the depths of her clear eyes. That conviction might be the only thing that allowed me to make it through the next few days. Weeks. However long it took until my mother was eradicated from my life. 

My mother has always insisted on what is best in my life. Unfortunately for me, most of the time, this meant whatever she thought would be best, whether I agreed or not. At times, that has taken the form of beatings, curses or machinations to manipulate me into the role she saw for me. 

All the worse for her that she did not know that I had the greatest of allies within my corner - the Savior, sworn to protect me against all harm. My mother did much to try to separate me from those around me. The attempt to frame me for the cricket's murder was particularly masterful. Had Emma not already removed the last of the obstacles in my path, I would have assuredly been vulnerable to her efforts. 

It had been important, then, to make her think that I still was vulnerable. She is a masterful manipulator, knowing the things to say to me to get me to do the things she wishes. It was a struggle to stand firm against them and know that I would be okay. Throughout, it was only the stolen moments with Emma that kept me on the correct path. 

Growing up, it was so easy to believe the lies that my mother spoke. That no one could possibly love me. That my entire life was devoted to achieving the things that my mother sought. That I needed to do the things my mother said, when she said them. 

It was a wonder that I ever broke free of her poison long enough to banish her to Wonderland. It remains a wonder that I was able to remain steadfast and sure in my knowledge of Emma's sworn devotion to me in order to not allow my mother's dark words and darker intent to color my actions. 

It was beyond imagining that I would then hold my mother in my arms as she perished, allowing the last cruel stab of emotion to infect me. I admit that I lashed out after, at those who had allied themselves to me, working in the shadows. In my paroxysm of grief, I could not see that which was happening around me. 

Maybe that is why I was so surprised by what happened. 

Regardless, I am certain that my foolhardy blonde idiot has regaled you with this tale already. I could not allow her telling to be all that would be recorded. 

After all, Emma Swan is and always has been a thoroughly horrendous storyteller.


End file.
